ID: C.BF.2.004

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Name: Nyothirt’rea’kaugh
Alias: The Civilized /The Kind/The Generous
Race: Dober
Status: Long Dead Thrice
Gender: He/him
Height: 14ft
Weight: 2,107llb
Age: (300),(700),(1,300)
Home Region: Arkhan

Affiliation: N/A
Occupation: Messiah, Healer, Damned
Mate(s): N/A
Descendants: N/A
Ascendants: Kaos / Thiththasa

The Civilized

Content Warnings:

Mentions of Rape/Incest/necrophilia | Suicide | Genocide

Nyothirt’rea’kaugh

Overview

Nyothirt’rea’kaugh, or The Civilized. A desperate plea from some unknown god- or perhaps a cruel joke from some mocking god. Nyothirt’rea’kaugh an individual killed twice and born thrice. His first two iterations born of the same appearance as his third- but the parents of his iterations past are unknown. The first iteration, Nyothirt was a child born of incestuous rape between dangerous individuals both. He by some cruel joke or horrid attempt at a messiah, born domesticated. A peaceful boy, one who cared for the flowers. One who thought the ways of snarling animal and biting beast abhorrent, aware he had only been subjected to the worst of violence. He knew not the beauty it could be. His end came at the hands of those he wished to save.
The second iteration, Nyothirt’rea born of gore and slaughter. His form to crawl out of slain beast- to look upon the remnants of a battle. The dead decayed, flowers intertwined betwixt their bones. The animals feasting upon the fallens flesh, yet. He had his memories. He grew scared of this beautiful vista of death, of violence, for he did not understand its full picture. He knew nought of the ritualistic fight between two clans- a festival of violence to end in the joining of both. He knew only the worst of it, and he treated all violence as equal. He saw to tame a city of animals. And in doing so, he caused their doom. City of Kyrel, and by extension Fallen Region Kyisada torn apart by its own infighting and government corruption. Besieged by greedy Fallen Region Piremount. A war that ended in mutual destruction of both Fallen Regions and his second death via public hanging.
The final iteration of this tortured soul comes from ascendants Kaos. Header and Martyr of the Bleeding Halthrought Emissary. A vengeful being who has climbed all four base pillars, who turned Graveraker at her end. The iterations father, a deranged lunatic. Thiththasa Slew Kaos at her end and fornicated with her decaying corpse. He thought it a trophy- all to his surprised when one day did her skin flay and from her desecrated remains. The Civilized crawl forth. He had never known peace. And if born again he shall still be denied the peace and quiet of both heart and mind. He knew torment from absolute neutrality this last life,The Hiros. Unrelenting in her Torment of Nyothirt’rea’kaugh.

Tassɸr Shegaöha Ehné Tashàmoore'Nyseöh Woe Weaved Over Drear String

The Era of which Sorrow would sing, Tassɸr Shegaöha Ehné Tashàmoore'Nyseöh. Or “Woe Weaved Over Drear String”. Saw two of his iterations born and die. The first, Nyothirt. Much of his horrific start is mired in mystery, all that is known is the cruelty that came about for his birth. He was a quiet child, one often tormented and abused by his vile parents. Nyothirt despite himself, despite his vile lineage. One fraught with hyper violence and atrocity, could not bring himself to raise his claws or teeth in defense. It is no surprise this young child affronted with atrocity after atrocity, assault and battery, grew to become a frightened doe. Fearful of the harm he may bring. To his credit, Young Lord Nyothirt in his home, a old fortress kept and operated by violent clans, did bring about some semblance of compassion to this cesspool of terrorism, slaughter, and pain. He learned medicine and was one of the first in his general area to put pen to paper. Creating the written language of Nyothis Script, now mostly defunct. His efforts of compassion were rewarded by exile from the fort. It is beyond a miracale Nyothirt lived long enough in the Arkhan wilderness to stumble upon a village.
The settlement welcomed him with open arms, their kindly faces to alight once more that hope within him. And so he brought his script and his medicinal knowledge, acting as a beacon of compassion and love. Yet- Love without borders is obsession. Nyothirt knew how to mend physical wounds, not the wounds of the mind. His fears beaten into him blossomed into irrational dictations and false prophecies. He who had brought love, health, scripture into this village. Who had seen its wall expand to stand a town, he only knew fear of violence. Not control nor acceptance. He soon held the title true of Lord, no longer just a spawn in a nest of evil. But one who commanded absolute power. He in his terror of violence, birthed a new sort of disorder. The fortress of where he was born, where compassion was killed and only the evil thrived. He knew it needeth fall, but he was a saint in his eyes. Nyothirt only knew of physical violence. So when he created the first weaponized disease born of a beautiful yellow flower, he did not know it violent to unleash upon the fort. Bringing that castle of pain to collapse in on itself, rabid animals to slay each other, to roll over and die in their own gore and filth.
The town he had grown saw this new weapon. They knew it violence, and they relished in it. From a method to put down rabid animals- to a drug to induce that carnal fervor. To drive the once pacifists into killing rages. The towns people relished in this recreational use, playing and having fun with the sport of blood. They knew the fort, they knew the dangers of uncontrolled violence all too well. This was controlled and ritualistic, but Nyothirt would have none of it. At first- he turned a blind eye. busy with the matters of destroying all artifact and corpse within that dreaded place. But soon- after he returned from burying the wretched. The sight of an arena hewn into the ground sent him into an unbridled fury. He had worked so hard to tame these animals, to rid them of their ‘impurity’. And here they went, dancing and cavorting with their base desires. He knew nought of control, he had never seen it applied to violence. No one knew exactly what happened- but whatever it was. It was dire enough for Kindly Nyothirt to be executed via pyre.

The second iteration, Nyothirt’rea born of gore and slaughter, rose out of a decayed mount of corpses. he dragged his aching flesh still burning with the memory of fire across a battlefield old. Mummified corpses strewn amidst a wonderful and beautiful bloom. One of the ritual battles between clans to seed and feed their ancestral graveyard. That this was a sacred place, of consensual death and violence. All he knew was he was born again in violence, however beautiful it was. Yet he could not see that. Now within the Fallen Region Kyisada, he found his way to the City of Kyrel. He knew nought that the town he had tried to tame had grown into a boisterous culture (See: Filliethie apothecaries), he thought it to end in slaughter. And so he entered that city, and clawed his way to the top through seduction and betrayal. He dismantled the systems in place, as they harbored and recognized violence as sacred and part of who they were. His advancements in the medicinal field were monumental, enough to turn a blind eye. A dire mistake. He had never healed, his fear only grown. And to protect his people- he gutted their ‘impure’ and ‘savage’ ways. Uniting them under himself, no longer was violence tolerated. Those who fought back were exiled from their ancestral homes. He molded both city and region to his desire, a strict caste system to keep them all in line. And to ensure that no violence befell this region reborn, privacy was eliminated.
Nyothirt’rea the Generous was right- without privacy. Violence was never allowed anymore than a single breath. Impurities were cut from his region. Conquest lines were thrown out, mother and child all. His people to follow the word of their leader, of their deliverer. Nyothirt’rea returned back to his old doings- revisiting the poison he had made. And transforming it, no longer would it send one into a violent fever, but it would dull their senses. This he spread without a word said through the city and region, if he could not tame these animals. He would control them. He brought about a time of complete peace, he had brought about civilization true. But he had also brought stagnation. There was nothing to turn the wheel of progress. Nothing but dull pacified animals denied their birthright.
This age did not last long. Nyothirt’rea never did kill or harm any who committed the sin of attack. He threw them out, and so they coalesced. Mourning their exile from ancestral lands, their culture beautiful and balanced denied- Assimilation and genocide.They turned to neighboring Fallen Region Piremount, their hate. Their anger, the sickness Nyothirt’rea had brought and spread. Piremount who had long eyed the coastal region pounced on this opportunity, they had no real interest in aiding the forlorn. They had interest in using them. And so was Fallen Region Kyisada besieged. Slaughtered. A people drugged and dulled, stripped of their history, their lineage, their birthright, slain and pillaged. Nyothirt’rea had stripped violence from them, and so had stripped their ability to defend themselves. Fallen Region Piremount took over, and they allowed the forlorn to hang Nyothirt’rea. His corpse, left to rot and mummify upon its thorned chain. Corpse doomed to look on as his secrets and betrayals even in his death. Toppled another region.

Keiiral e–ér Orial Dark be that Wind

The third and final revival of the now Nyothirt’rea’kaugh came back within his home region of Arkhan. This time, from within a defiled corpse. The horror of his past lives, his failures, his broken promises was almost too much to bear. He had no grand scheme this time, for every instance of his heart had ended in blood, pain, and violence. He had committed genocide of the forlorn, however accidental and blinded by delusion it was. He had done it, and so he wished to live out this existence in the outer fringes of Tundri, Capital city of Arkhan. Peace he would not find. For lurking in shadow, stalking him. Taunting him, tormenting him, was The Hiros , Unrelenting in her quest for a song. If Nyothirt’rea’kaugh upon his final death did not somehow go to The Underbirth to experience torment tenfold. Then this was his hell. Untouchable was she, silent was she, horrifying was she. She tore apart everything he had left, punishment divine. Upon the completion of the lament, Nyothirt’rea’kaugh wandered to the highest tower in his area. He threw himself headfirst to splatter upon the stone tiles below.